Almost
by Pinkchick
Summary: Yes, Ron thought. Maybe being splinched wasn't such a bad thing after all. A Deathly Hallows missing moment. RHr.


**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to the brilliant mind of Jo Rowling.

**Author's Note:** A big thanks goes to my beta **PigWithHair**. She did a great job. This story takes place a little after Ron is splinched in _Deathly Hallows_. I hope you enjoy!

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**Almost**

**By: Pinkchick**

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"Ouch!"

"Hold still."

"Ow!"

"Stop wincing, Ron!" Hermione commanded.

"I can't help it, it hurts," Ron complained.

"Well, I'm trying to make it hurt less," Hermione countered.

Ron pouted and winced again. Hermione glared at him. He glared back. "So, what's taking so long?" he asked, annoyed and still wincing whenever Hermione touched the injury on his left arm.

That was how the two of them sat inside the tent: Ron was sitting up against the pillows of the lower bunk bed. Hermione was sitting next to him, attempting to properly place his arm in a sling. Harry had taken the first watch shift, so he sat just outside the tent.

"I'm sorry, Ronald," said Hermione irritably, "but, if you'd rather do it yourself, then I'll stop."

"No, no," Ron assured, "I'll stop."

Ron looked stricken for a moment. Just because he, Ron Weasley was complaining about his arm hurting did not mean, in anyway whatsoever, that he wanted Hermione to stop tending to him. If he were to be completely honest with himself, Ron rather liked Hermione taking care of him. They were sitting close to each other. Her hip was digging into his side and she was leaning in to better reach his arm. Ron liked the fact that Hermione was within such close proximity to him. He would never tell her that, of course. Perhaps he should injure himself more often.

Hermione's fingers brushed his now healed flesh. Ron could not help but suck in a breath. Hermione looked at him warningly. She nodded approvingly when he said nothing and bent her head, returning to his injury. Ron leaned in slowly and breathed in the smell of her hair. Ron did not know exactly what shampoo Hermione used, but it did not matter because it always smelled so good.

It was at that moment when Hermione looked up. Ron drew back immediately, his ears turning pink. Inwardly, he cursed himself and his stupid ears. Hermione had not said anything, but Ron knew she was staring at him. He turned and blue eyes locked with brown. It was brief and Hermione quickly broke the contact, returning to the task of wrapping his arm.

"Hermione," Ron breathed, unable to stop her name rolling off his tongue. Why was it the mouth always disobeyed the mind?

"Yes, Ron?" Hermione asked, the gentleness back in her voice.

"I—" Ron stopped. Whatever he was about to say was lost on his tongue as Hermione's eyes met his once more. Ron felt his heart lodge itself in his throat and he almost forgot to breathe.

Hermione was looking at him with such hopeful intensity that Ron forgot all he had learned when communicating verbally. _Are you a Gryffindor or not? _Ron asked himself mentally. After a moment, and he was thankful it was not longer, his voice found its way back to him.

"You ever thought about becoming a Healer? You're really good at it," Ron found himself saying. Mentally, he kicked himself.

Hermione glanced down.

"Thanks, Ron," she said, turning slightly pink, "but, no, a Healer's not what I had in mind." There was a soft smile playing on her lips.

"Oh," said Ron. "I'm sure you'll be brilliant in whatever you do," he added as an afterthought.

This time Hermione fully blushed. Her smile widened but she did not say anything. The next few minutes went by in silence. Ron was getting somewhat agitated, but he did not let Hermione know. She would no sooner bite his head off anyway.

"There," Hermione announced, "all done. It's not great, but it'll do."

Ron looked down at his arm. It was cradled in a sling, secured behind his neck.

"Thanks, Hermione," said Ron, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Hermione got up as well.

"You don't have to thank me," Hermione replied in a small voice, looking anywhere but at Ron. "I was the one who got you Splinched."

Ron was confused for a moment, but waved his hand in the air.

"It was an accident," said Ron. "Besides, what's the meaning of a bloke's life if he never bleeds to death?" he joked. _Yes_, Ron thought. _Maybe being splinched wasn't such a bad thing after all_.

Hermione started to smile, but faltered. She bit her bottom lip as tears began welling up in her eyes. Ron immediately panicked. Merlin, he hadn't said anything that had upset her, had he? Or maybe he did. Ron closed his eyes and opened them. He felt like such a git. He was only trying to be funny.

"Oh, Ron," Hermione cried, throwing her arms around his neck tightly and hugging him. Ron winced as the breath was knocked out of him. His arm still hurt a bit. Hermione immediately withdrew like she had been stung. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"Hermione, I'm fine," Ron assured. "And I'm the one who's sorry. 'M such a prat. Shoulda told you I was only joking."

"You just apologized," said Hermione, sounding incredulous.

"Yeah, so?" Ron shrugged. He did not see what the big deal was. Witches—he was convinced they were completely mental.

"You've never apologized to me before," Hermione pointed out. "Well, at least not voluntarily."

Ron shrugged again, having the decency to look sheepish. Ok, so he apologized. So what? Was Hermione going to throw him a party or something? If she reacted like that all the time, maybe he would have to start apologizing more often.

"Yeah, well, I reckon it's better late than never, right?"

There was that look again, Ron realized. Hermione was looking at him with tenderness in her eyes. It was the same look she had given him earlier when he had been talking about the Cattermoles. Ron did not know when they had drawn closer to each other, but they were now so close, their noses were practically touching.

"Ron," Hermione breathed.

"Yeah, Hermione?"

"I—"

"Yeah?"

There was a clatter outside followed by a loud colorful word. Ron and Hermione jumped apart, startled. They both immediately raised their wands, ready to curse anything that came their way. It was not until Harry called from outside that they lowered their wands.

"Sorry, that was just me," said Harry, his voice muffled.

Ron looked relieved as he let himself relax. He turned back to Hermione, who had her hand on her heart and was glaring at the tent entrance. Inside, Ron cursed his black-haired best friend for interrupting an opportune moment.

Ron cleared his throat. "You were saying?" Hopefully Hermione would continue where they left off.

"Oh." All of a sudden, Hermione looked flustered. Ron could have sworn there was a tinge of pink making its way onto her cheeks. "I was just going to say that I hope you feel better, Ron."

"Oh." Ron tried to hide his disappointment. He honestly thought she had been about to say something else.

Hermione braved a smile and Ron was filled with the hope that one day there would be another moment. Maybe then, they could seize the opportunity. Staring around the tent, he had almost forgotten that he, Hermione, and Harry were in the middle of the forest on a mission to destroy You-Know-Who's Horcruxes. At the thought, Ron involuntarily shuddered.

"Alright there, Ron?" Hermione inquired, plopping herself onto her bed. She looked concerned.

"Oh, yeah, 'm fine," Ron stated nonchalantly.

"Ok, well, goodnight then."

"Yeah, goodnight, Hermione." Ron lay down on his bunk bed. He pulled his Deluminator out and doused the lights.

Slowly, he reached out his hand toward Hermione. Ron did not think she would grasp his hand again like she had in Grimmauld Place, but he just wanted to be closer to her. Ron knew if Fred and George ever found out how he longed to be near Hermione, they would take the mickey out of him and call him a nancy boy, but he did not care.

Nancy boy be damned. This was Hermione: Ron's best friend. There was never an excuse to not be close to her. In fact, lately he had been trying to find any excuse to _be _close to her. He, Ron Weasley, loved one Hermione Granger. He knew he had loved her for awhile now. This time, thank Merlin, there were no Lavenders to get in his way. After all, his range of emotions had got larger than a teaspoon, thank you very much.

The contact was soft, but Ron felt it. Hermione's small hand was now enclosed in Ron's larger one. He squeezed and thought he heard Hermione sigh softly. They remained that way, fingers intertwined, Ron letting Hermione's soft breathing lull him to sleep.


End file.
